


so sing while we're falling apart

by orphan_account



Category: Kamen Rider Ghost
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, character death mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-26
Updated: 2015-11-26
Packaged: 2018-05-03 11:02:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5288282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Lean forward like this," Makoto pressed the heel of his palm into the center of Takeru's back, and his heart fluttered like a trapped bird.</p>
<p>(an AU where Makoto and Kanon never disappeared.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	so sing while we're falling apart

  
-

_even when it got hard_

_when the shore was too far_

_even there in your arms_

_i have always been home_

_-_

Whenever Takeru went into the city for a walk, or to pick up groceries, there would be droves and droves of students his age, coming back from school or heading to supplementary classes. If anyone asked, he would smile and say he was homeschooled. It was partially the truth. Between them Onari and his late father had taught him how to read and write and some basic math, with a heavy focus on Buddhist scripture and temple duties.

Akari had found his education lacking, and tried to teach him more advanced mathematical concepts and scientific theories, but his eyes glazed over at the thought of memorizing any more formulae.

There was one subject he excelled at, though. History.

"Give me back my textbook," Akari said, head bent over her homework. "I need to double-check my answers."

"I can check it for you." Takeru offered. He leaned over, studying her neat, compact handwriting. "You got that one wrong. Ieyasu became a shogun in 1603."

She rolled her eyes. "I don't get it. It's just rote memorization! There's no--there's no logic to it..."

Except there was. History came alive in his eyes. Just one event, one battle, one misplaced decision, could lead to the rise and fall of kingdoms and empires. Kanon found his interest in history charming, and tried to check out history books from her school library for him to read. Akari thought it was ridiculous that he could tell her the details of Michael Faraday's life, but not recite Faraday's law of induction. And Makoto...

There were things Takeru had never experienced simply because he never had to attend school, like the silence of exam halls pierced by rustling paper, or clapping together chalkboard dusters until the air was thick with white dust, or the swoop of your stomach when all your friends knew you had a crush on someone and wouldn't leave you alone about it.

Makoto had given him a book on ancient Mayan history for his fourteenth birthday.

"He took forever just to pick it out," Kanon laughed.

"I didn't know what to get him," Makoto protested. "He's read everything already."

"It's perfect." Takeru smiled, turning it over in his hands, the hard cover solid in his palms. "Thank you."

He was fourteen and Makoto was seventeen and impossibly cool. He'd just started learning how to ride a motorcycle, and Takeru's heart would always pick up imperceptibly whenever the roar of motorcycle engines pulled up outside the Tenkuuji house.

He didn't quite understand what that meant. Not yet.

-

A memory: He was seven, and Makoto was ten.

Makoto had gotten in a fight at school. It wasn't his first, and it wouldn't be his last. He wasn't a confrontational person, but was quick to rise when provoked. He sat, sulking, away from his parents, who were asking Takeru's father what they should do with their son.

"They were picking on Kanon," he protested, when Takeru went to join him in the temple backyard. "One of them tried to pull her hair."

"I know. I heard."

Kanon had been arguing with her parents, who were hastily trying to tell her that violence--any sort of violence--was never justified, that Makoto should have gone to a teacher rather than try to break another boy's nose. In the end Takeru's father had shooed her out of the room and made her play outside with Akari.

Makoto's face crinkled into a frown. "I don't get it. How come I'm not allowed to fight bullies, but your dad lets us practice fights with swords?"

Takeru hesitated, trying to piece together his father's comments on peace, on defending instead of attacking, and giving up. "I dunno, but. Um. I got you something."

Nestled in the center of his palm was a tiny silk packet, embroidered with sacred phrases, tied with a red ribbon. An _omamori_. A protective charm, for luck and for safety.

"Onari-san said it protects people," he explained.

"I don't need protecting," Makoto said, wrinkling his nose, but he took the charm anyway.

-

When he was fifteen he started to realize Makoto looked good in everything he owned, and wished he hadn't noticed, because now he couldn't stop himself from looking. Makoto had taken to wearing genuine motorcycle leather when he was out driving. The way his legs stretched like long shadows in those black trousers of his made Takeru's heart ache. He was dimly aware that perhaps Onari and the others wouldn't approve, that perhaps he should be feeling this way about Kanon, or even Akari, but his heart simply said otherwise.

Once, Makoto had shown up at the Tenkuuji house with a bruise across his left cheek and a split lip and asked to borrow their first-aid kit.

"Did you get in a fight?" Takeru asked, once Makoto had mostly cleaned himself up.

He'd meant it as a joke, but Makoto just nodded. "Yeah. If anyone asks, tell them I fell off my bike."

"But who'd you--"

"I came here to take my mind off things, not talk about it." He frowned, and Takeru must've looked startled, because he relaxed immediately. "Sorry. It's been a rough day."

Takeru stared at his shoes. They were sitting outside, the sun setting over the cool stone steps leading to the temple entrance. It was summer, and the insects were starting to chirp and whirr in the woods nearby.

"What's it like?" Makoto asked suddenly.

"What's what like?"

"Living here." He gestured absently with one hand. "You don't go out much, and the only person your age you hang out with is my sister."

The wind rustled the leaves in the grass.

"Have you ever thought about leaving?"

"What? But--where would I go?"

"Anywhere." He got the sense Makoto was talking to himself rather than to Takeru, that there was more going on with the older boy than he was willing to let on. "Just... get away from here for a while."

"Maybe if Onari would let me learn how to ride a bike," Takeru laughed, trying to diffuse the situation.

Makoto shrugged, a wan smile to his lips. "I could teach you. It's not that hard."

And so, despite Onari's protests--pointing to Makoto's bruised face as proof that riding a motorcycle would be far too dangerous for someone as young as Takeru--he started taking on-and-off lessons from Makoto. It would be a whole year before he could apply for a motorcycle licence, but Makoto insisted it wouldn't hurt anyone to let him practice around the temple compound.

"Lean forward like this," Makoto pressed the heel of his palm into the center of Takeru's back, and his heart fluttered like a trapped bird.

-

It was October, and the temple suddenly felt too cold, too dark, the weight of its age heavy on his shoulders.

The monks woke early on the anniversary of his father's death. The late Ghost Hunter had touched many lives, taken many people aside from their prayers and asked if there was something--anything--he could do to help them. It wasn't just help with exorcisms and wayward spirits, either; Onari was fond of recounting stories where his father had gone out of his way to help rebuild businesses and mend broken families.

People would flood into the Tenkuuji temple with fruit and flowers to decorate his altar. The two apprentices would cut the grass from around his grave and lay out offerings, their touch careful, reverent. Incense hung in the air, the smell cloying and almost overwhelming.

Onari had asked him many times if he'd ever thought about being a Ghost Hunter. His answer was always the same: _I'll think about it._

Today, the temple felt too crowded, too loud, and he couldn't hide the look of surprise and relief on his face when Makoto's bike pulled into the compound and the older boy gestured for him to get on. Perhaps it was the day's events that made him reach out and clasp his hands around Makoto's thin waist. He felt Makoto shift beneath him, and he could feel a blush burning high on his cheeks, but if Makoto found it odd he didn't say anything.

They drove for what felt like forever. The sun rose, in a slow bright arch that lit up the cloudy morning sky. He fell asleep, lulled by the silence of the long drive and the deep rumble of the motorcycle's powerful engines, and he woke, startled, face still pressed against Makoto's back when the bike jerked to a halt.

They were on a hill overlooking the city. The trees cast a dappled shadow across Makoto's face.

It hit Takeru, suddenly, just how _tall_ Makoto was, especially now that they were so close to each other. He swallowed, hoping the older boy didn't notice the look on his face. He and Akari had graduated high school a few months ago, and Kanon had gleefully reminded them just how many tearful girls had decided to confess to Makoto on the last day of school. ("I have no idea just what they see in you," Akari snorted, high-fiving Kanon across the table.) The memory made him smile, in spite of himself.

"Makoto," he said, the name heavy on his lips.

"Hm?"

His hands were still wrapped around Makoto's waist. The air was still here, and the silence was reassuring.

"I miss him," he managed to blurt out. "My dad. I miss him."

They stayed like that for a long while.

-

They both died on his eighteenth birthday.

He'd run out of the temple when he heard Kanon scream, then Akari shouting Makoto's name, and Onari yelling out as many protective mantras as he knew, and wished he hadn't gone because Makoto was on the ground and there was red, red everywhere, and the--the creature had tried to go for Akari next so he jumped in its way and--

"Takeru!"

" _Takeru!_ "

Dying was easy. It was surprising how little it hurt, after a while.

All you had to do was fall.

-

The moon glinted off the side of Makoto's helmet and caught the edges of his bike.

"You heard him." There was a click as he fastened the helmet's straps under his chin. "There are only fifteen eyecons. Only one of us can come back."

"But you--" Takeru gripped his eyecon tighter in his hand, the strange little sphere that contained his soul. "We can work this out. You don't have to go, please--"

"It'll be easier." His voice was sharp now, edged with resentment. "It'll make things easier--for both of us--if you don't have to see me."

"Makoto, please--"

He pulled the visor down over his face, revved the engine loud enough to wake the house, and drove out of the compound, out of what was left of Takeru's heart. When Kanon rushed out of the house, shouting her brother's name at the top of her lungs, Takeru's legs buckled under him and the asphalt bit into his knees.

She was crying. So was he.

-

_there’s a windowless view_

_there’s a me without you_

_but that’s not where I belong_

-

Makoto wasn't entirely gone, though.

Musashi. Edison. Robin Hood. Newton. The long-dead souls of historical figures neatly laid out on his table. Takeru pulled out one more--Beethoven--and rested it beside Newton. Akari would have been skeptical about it (though he knew that was her way of raising a shield around her heart), and told him he was probably misremembering the fight, especially since the Ganma had been disorienting him with its music, but...

A flash of blue, kicking the Ganma away from him.

Only one of them could come back.

His hand curled around his own soul, in the center of his palm. He thought about red silk tied with a red ribbon. A long-expired good luck charm.

He closed his eyes, and let himself disappear.

-

**Author's Note:**

> wHOO hahaha i haven't written fanfic in about 25000 years i hope this isn't too terrible. the song i'm quoting is _[The Wreck of Our Hearts](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BsNm54UwWWQ)_ by Sleeping Wolf.
> 
> as i mentioned i'm pretty rusty to writing, so if anything feels out of place feel free to point it out--especially the massive liberties i had to take with Makoto's character, haha. thanks for reading!


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